


Picking Chokecherries

by orphan_account



Category: Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons), Trollhunters - Daniel Kraus & Guillermo del Toro
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Drugged Sex, Drunk Sex, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Manipulation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Oral Sex, Power Imbalance, Rape/Non-con Elements, Scent Kink, Sexual Violence, Vomiting, alchohol enema
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:35:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22581865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Orlagk notices his new recruit is in heat and offers to lend a hand.
Relationships: Orlagk/Gunmar
Comments: 1
Kudos: 17





	Picking Chokecherries

**Author's Note:**

> This came about for one reason; I wanted Orlagk to be a worse person than Gunmar. In reference to the age-difference tag, I imagine Gunmar is between 19-23 in Troll Years here, while Orlagk is closer to his forties.

Gunmar the Black drove his fist into the Rust Troll's ribs, letting out a snarl as he felt them splinter. The Rust Troll bent double, mouth gaping in pain. The kalis blade's he'd been duel-weilding fell to the ground, and Gunmar kicked them away.

He grabbed the Rust-Troll's jagged antlers. With a roar, he lifted his opponent, turned on his heel and sent him flying out of the sparring pit.

Orlagk ducked as the Rust Troll sailed over his head, landing in a heap beside a dozen other broken-boned Gumm-Gumms.

"Kodanth, How long's he been like this?" The Gumm-Gumm King glanced toward his advisor.

The changeling shook his head, gathering his cape closer. "He's going on his third day, my King."

"Has he et?"

"No."

"Slept?"

"Unfortuantely, no."

"Did you give him a breeding wench?"

"We did. He tried to fight her."

Orlagk fell silent, watching the younger bull in the pit below.

Gunmar rose onto his hind legs and let out a roar. His chest and flanks steamed as a black bile dripped from his jaws. Dark patches below his horns oozed with a thick, tarlike substance, staining the braid-like forelocks on either side of his face.

A few black droplets of it spattered onto the ground.

Orlagk rubbed his chin as Gunmar began to pace, occasionally bellowing out for a new challenger.

"I've taken the liberty of having the bone mender brew a cooling potion." Kodanth said, "I'm told that Gunmar is partial to bloodgrog."

"Belay that." Orlagk flexed his claws, eyeing the pile of defeated challengers, "This hardchaw put fifteen of my soldiers out of commission."

He started toward the ring.

"My Lord!" Kodanth hurried after, concern adding an edge to his voice, "What are you going to do?"

"I've a mouth on me. Think it's time I taught our new recruit how to pick Chokecherries."

Gunmar was vicious, but even he feared Decimaar enough to bend his knee when Orlagk approached. The Warlord gave the order to go gathering, and Gunmar agreed through clenched teeth.

Orlagk hefted his blade across his shoulders, making sure Gunmar saw it.

"Hopin' your in the mood to march, Soldier. Chokecherry grove is a ways off."

Gunmar snorted in reply, reaching for his canteen and weapons.

"Leave em." Orlagk patted a heavy sack hanging from his belt. "There's no need for your blade, and I'll carry the drink. Come along now, ye got fruit to haul."

The younger bull followed his king with a sullen sort of obedience, keeping a respectful five paces behind. Gunmar trudged along on all fours, two huge wicker baskets strapped to his shoulders. He cursed Orlagk beneath his breath, thinking the old warlord couldn't hear.

Orlagk heard him. Orlagk didn't care.

He'd dealt with Gunmar's sort before, and he'd been called worse. 

Legend or not, He'd have the younger Troll singing a different tune, soon enough. 

The entire trek took about three hours, and the Gumm-Gumm soldier was already panting by the time they got to the orchard.

"Good. Looks like we got here before the Kiltars picked it clean." Orlagk shoved one of the trees over, then sat down on the newly created log to rest.

The chokecherry branches sagged with overripe fruit, the grove stretching on for miles.

"Ye best be gettin' to it." Orlagk said evenly, "If those basket's aren't full before sun-up, then I'll make troll pie instead of cherry. Mind the branches, if I see a single stem or leaf, then I'll make you dump the lot and start again."

With that, the Gumm-Gumm King took out a small dagger and began picking his teeth.

Gunmar scowled, wiping his forehead on the back of his hand.

"Give me a drink." He demanded.

Orlagk picked up the wineskin and pretended to take a long, slow swallow.

"Fill one of those baskets, then maybe I'll share my canteen."

For a moment, it looked as if Gunmar would challenge him. Orlagk stared him down, the runes on his left arm flickered in warning.

Finally, the younger Gumm-Gumm looked away, letting out a huff as he started toward the nearest tree.

"Better double fist em." The King called out after, "Night's just going to get warmer."

Two exhausting hours later, Gunmar had finished his task. His baskets were overflowing, an insufferable weight against his aching shoulders. He was sore, he was clammy, and he wanted to kill something, but he'd done it. He'd filled the damn baskets.

Orlagk had built a campfire while he was away. Gunmar couldn't imagine why; the night was already hotter than a volcano troll's ass.

"Here, I gathered your plants." He growled, dropping the baskets at his Warlord's feet.

"So ye did." Orlagk grinned and offered a wineskin. "Sit down and have a slug."

The younger bull snatched the canteen, upending it and taking three deep gulps. Orlagk's grin widened when Gunmar started choking.

"What the blazes---" He hacked, staring at the skin with wide eyes.

"That'll put an edge to your horns!" Orlagk gave his thigh a slap, nearly doubled over with laughter. "Bloodgrog is for whelps! You're a Gumm-Gumm now, lad! Cimmerian Wine is a warriors drink."

"I know that!" Gunmar snapped, "I've had Cimmerian Wine! And this isn't even the strongest draught!"

As if to prove a point, he put the nozzle to his lips and threw his head back. Orlagk watched closely as Gunmar's adam's apple bobbed up and down, his eyes following the trail of a few stray droplets as they traced down the thick muscles of his neck.

"Bah!" Gunmar let out his breath, tossing the empty skin into the fire. "Got any more?"

"Aye, How's it sitting?" The Warlord offered him a second canteen.

Reluctantly, Gunmar accepted. It was clear he hadn't expected Orlagk to have brought two.

He popped off the top and took another swallow.

"Tastes---" He coughed, pounding his chest as the drink burned its way into his belly. "Tastes watered down."

"No Warlord worth his salt would water down a soldiers wine! An army marches on its drink!"

Gunmar handed him the canteen back, half empty.

"Nothing in there but good spirits." Orlagk finished, setting the canteen beside three others.

Spirits, and a few pinches of Kava Root.

Orlagk grabbed a handful of choke cherries, popping them into his misaligned mouth. He chewed thoughtfully, eyeing the way Gunmar swayed to keep his balance.

"We should head back." the soldier mumbled, glancing toward the direction of camp. "Need to get back to the sparriing ring."

Orlagk extended his left arm, and the runes gouged into his stone began to shine with a sickly light. Gunmar's eyes were instantly drawn to them, just like Orlagk knew they would be.

In a flash of dull light, all thoughts of sparring vanished. 

_"Decimaar._ " It was no secret that Gunmar was in awe of the cursed blade, Orlagk could see the envy in his eyes as it formed.

Gunmar gazed with unabashed longing for a moment, then turned his attention to the runes.

"What does that _feel_ like?" 

Orlagk considered a moment, angling the sword so that he was looking down it's edge.

"To tell ye true? She feels like carving your name into a newly won Heartstone."

He hefted the blade up, casting it's glow across Gunmar's face, giving him a good, long look before dissapating it once more.

Gunmar leaned in for a closer look as the wisps of magic retreated back into Orlagk's arm.

"Take's a strong arm to wield her, lad." Orlagk flexed so that the muscle stood out like boulders.

Gunmar nodded dumbly, reaching out to graze his palm along one of the Warlord's biceps.

"How'd ye like it?" Orlagk quirked a brow at him.

Gunmar growled in reply, admiring the red runes twisted along Orlagk's stone. He could feel the heat coming off them, and he stroked his fingers along the etchings.

After considering for a moment, he gave the muscle an approving squeeze. 

"Biggest I've ever seen." He murmured in reply.

"I was talking about the blade, Lad."

The soldier drew his hand back as if he'd been burned, a flush rising to his cheeks.

Sheepishly, Gunmar glanced away, scratching the back of his neck with one claw.

Orlagk chuckled warmly.

"It's alright if ye ain't got your wits about ya. " He settled back onto the log, using one finger to tug at his necklace of skulls. "Too hot a night to be thinking."

"Too hot to think." Gunmar repeated, staring at Orlagk's sweat-slick stone.

The younger bulls nostrils flared ever so slightly, and Orlagk had to bite his tongue to keep from smirking.

"Too hot for all this armor, T'be sure. Why don't ye play the squire and help me out of mine."

For an instant, something flickered across Gunmar's face, a nervous tension that made his jaw shift, as if he were chewing something.

"Be quick about it, and I might let ye' hold the blade."

Orlagk knew Gunmar. He knew his greed and ambition far outweighed his sense of caution.

That's why he wasn't surprised when Gunmar stepped forward and began to unfasten the cords that held his shoulderguard in place.

The knot was tight, and Gunmar was impatient, he let out a growl, leaning in closer to work at it with his teeth.

Orlagk leaned back, making sure Gunmar got a good faceful of his scent.

The younger male snorted, a puzzled expression twisting his features.

He snorted a second time, and then he rumbled; pushing his muzzle into the crook of Orlagk's neck.

The warlord grinned, reaching back to hooked an arm behind Gunmar's horns.

"What do you think you're doing, Gunmar?" He asked, keeping his tone low.

"You smell...you smell good. Better than cooking flesh." Gunmar let out a breath, pressing his snout harder, "You smell so good, Orlagk."

The warlord brought his forearm and bicep together, crushing the younger bull's windpipe.

"Ye best be minding your manners, lad." He barely spoke above a whisper, but his growl was much louder than Gunmar's. After a minute, he released him, and Gunmar staggered back, coughing.

"I---" He stopped, licked his lips, then quickly lowered his horns in a sign of submission. "I'm sorry, my king."

"I'll forget it this time. I know it's the fever speakin. Now come back here and finish what ye started."

It was almost cute, how coy Gunmar was. He tried to keep his eyes on the fire, but Orlagk caught him glancing his way when he thought he wasn't looking.

The naked King stretched with a jaw-cracking yawn.

"So, which suits you more, do ye mount or lift tail?" He asked, point blank.

Gunmar's jaw began to work up and down; chewing again.

"Too hard to choose? Fair enough, here's an easy one;" Orlagk watched Gunmar's expression, "Bulls or Mares?"

The soldier's blue eyes flickered upward to meet his for just a moment, then Gunmar quickly averted his gaze.

"Why pick just one?" He answered gruffly. "Sun'll be up soon. We should head back."

Orlagk's expression darkened, and his voice went hard.

"Don't try to parry my question." Orlagk rose to his feet, stepping closer. "Maybe your rut can't decide, but you've got a nose, and it'll tell you whether you should be over or under."

He saw a faint trace of fear in the soldier's eyes and knew he was losing him.

"Come here, Lad. Sit down."

"No." Gunmar stumbled to his hooves, turning in the direction of camp. "This is a waste of my time."

"Sit down!" Orlagk's voice roiled with a snarl that came from deep in his gut.

Gunmar stopped, then he turned to face Orlagk.

Once again, it looked as if Gunmar might challenge him. The younger troll snorted and pawed the ground, as if preparing for a charge.

Orlagk didn't flinch. He took a step toward Gunmar, squaring his shoulders and giving his horns a toss.

Gunmar was fearless. He was vicious, and hungry, and unlike any other troll Orlagk had come across. But Born of Heartstone or not, he was still a troll.

And just like any troll, he had Father Instinct whispering in his ear.

Grudgingly, Gunmar listened, making his way back to the log.

Orlagk huffed, returning to his seat beside him. Once more, his voice melted into the warm accent of his homeland.

"Give me your back, lad."

Gunmar mumbled something, but did as he was told. Slowly, Orlagk began to run his fingers through the soldier's mane, cutting through mats and picking at tangles. Every so often, he'd bring his lopsided teeth down to scrape at Gunmar's hide, biting away bits of sun-scarring.

Gunmar sat still as he worked, saying nothing. This too was Father Instinct. The act of grooming was far older than Gunmar himself, and against his will he began to relax, muscles unbunching beneath Orlagk's skilled ministrations.

"Feels like your bloods been turned to fire, doesn't it, lad?" Orlagk said gently, pressing his thumb to the base of Gunmar's neck. "It's like a fever and a fury, all at one. Ye can't eat, can't sleep, all ye wanna do is crush skulls and sit in a pit of cool mud till your head stops bein' mince."

Gunmar leaned back into the his touch, a shudder passing down his spine.

"You're in season, Gunmar. Ye can't fight the season, anymore than ye can fight the sun. Only thing for it is to take the cure."

Orlagk pressed his chest to Gunmar's back. His hand came to rest over one of the younger bull's pecs.

"I know that." Gunmar said, hoarsely. "I've done it---"

He eyes flickered down and to the left.

"---dozens of times."

"Aye?" Orlagk's black nails slid across a crescent-shaped rune. "Do you remember your first?"

"O-of course. She was...she was..."

"Was she beautiful?"

"She was _strong_."

Gunmar's breath steamed against the night air, and he turned his head to look at the Warlord.

Orlagk nodded thoughtfully.

"Strength's good to have in a Trollmaid. It means she'll give good whelps. Beauty's just spice to the meat. I met four, maybe five trolls in my time that had both."

As he spoke, Orlagk pushed one of Gunmar's forelocks away from his face.

The younger bull wore two of them on either side of his jaw, draped down in front of his horns and decorated with bits of bone.

"Six, countin' you."

Gunmar rumbled at the praise.

Their mouths came closer, and for an instant, it looked like he might give in.

But then he hesitated, and tried to stand again.

Orlagk's thick fingers wrapped around his wrist, pulling him back down.

"It don't have to be a rutting, lad. There are other ways to cool the fever."

Reluctantly, Gunmar glanced toward him, a hint of hope in his voice.

"What other ways?" 

Gunmar let out a roar, digging his claws into Orlagk's horns. He yanked on them as if they were reigns, using the leverage to force his rut deeper into the Warlord's throat.

Orlagk didn't seem offended by his rough treatment. if anything, he was pleased with younger bull's vigor. It wasn't the first time he'd knelt between a fine set of thighs, and it wouldn't be the last, though even he had to admit that he'd never had a male quite so bold as Gunmar. He'd barely given his rut a suckle, and Gunmar had instantly sprung to action; fucking his loose gullet as if it were a mare's crux.

  
No patience, no decorum. All respect and social status thrown to the wayside.

Youth was wasted on the young.

Orlagk began to bob his head forward and back, swallowing Gunmar's member. He made sure to slurp and gulp as loudly as possible. He could tell the young bull liked the sound of it. With practiced motions, Orlagk's contorted his throat muscles, slimy flesh slithering against the length, and Gunmar responded with a howl.

  
The king exhaled through his nose, trying not to laugh. On the next thrust, he dug his fingers into Gunmar's hips and turned his tourmaline-eyes upward. He grinned around the mouthful of cock, then slowly brought his teeth down to scrape against it.

The lad may as well have been putty. Gunmar took one look at his King's expression and pulled his rut free.

"Orlagk---"

It was all he managed. Gunmar clutched at the Warlord's horns for purchase as he reached his peak.

Orlagk grabbed the head of Gunmar's rut, aiming it toward his mouth as it spurted.

The younger bull collapsed panting onto the log.

"By the Blackened Heartstone!" He gasped, pressing his palm to his forehead. Gunmar seemed to be in a state of shock, as if he couldn't quite believe what he'd just done, and who he'd done it to.

Orlagk smirked, licking the spend from his teeth.

"How d'ye feel?"

"Better." Gunmar sighed drowsily, "Better, I think it's stopped. I think---"

His stony cock arched upward, as if in defiance.

Gunmar stared at his own erection in bewilderment.

 _"Really?"_ he said to it, incredulous.

"Here." Orlagk passed him the half-finished canteen. Gunmar licked his parched limps and drained it dry.

The Warlord nearly had Gunmar right where he wanted him.

Just a push more.

"Y'know, it's Gumm-Gumm custom to groom back." He set his teeth together in a stern look.

"Oh? Oh!" Gunmar quickly dropped the wineskin, "Right. I knew that."

The barbs on his tongue caught against Orlagk's mane as he gave it three licks before quickly moving to his shoulders.

The Warlord had worked up a sweat tending to him, and Gunmar seemed eager to clean it.

It was almost cute, since Gunmar was trying so hard _not to seem eager._

"It's Father Instinct, Gunmar. Nothin' ta be ashamed of." Orglagk stated as Gunmar glanced away, "Your nose tells ye a good mate from a bad."

Orlagk grabbed one of Gunmar's horns, and brought his head down to whisper in his ear.

"Do whatever comes natural." 

The younger bull nearly knocked the king over in his rush to sniff him. Gunmar pressed his muzzle to the Warlord's throat, then lapped at the damp stone between his pecs.

He grabbed Orlagk's bicep, pushing his arm up over his head. Then, he began to lick at the Warlord's flank, tracing his scars before working his way up to his armpit.

Gunmar moaned quietly and buried his face there. He snuffed against him, trying to pull as much of his musk into his lungs as possible.

Orlagk chuckled to himself, setting a reassuring hand on Gunmar's mane.

"You don't have to pretend to be so interested." He purred, "An experienced lad like you can't be satisfied with an old bull troll."

"No, my King." Gunmar snarled, pushing himself up. He pressed Orlagk to the ground, his palms braced against the warlords chest. "You're perfect. Your muscles, your smell."

He was panting now, his erection oozing as he brought his head down to kiss at Orlagk's throat.

The Warlord growled, setting a hand to Gunmar's chest to push him away.

The younger bull resisted; his reason stolen by drink and instinct.

"Get off." Orlagk growled, wrapping a leg around Gunmar's waist.

He angled his broad hips upward, just enough so that Gunmar could feel how open he was.

"Your king gave you an order, Lad. You know what'll happen if you defy it. Stop." the command was a snarl, and for a moment, Orlagk could feel Gunmar trying to obey and draw back.

Quickly, He flexed his leg muscles to hold the younger bull in place, to keep him from escaping.

Not long, just long enough for his shell to break.

Gunmar snarled and clamped his teeth onto Orlagk's neck; pinning him in place.

Orlagk bit back a chuckle and braced himself.

Gunmar's rut slipped easily beneath his tail. In a single stroke, he had it buried to the hilt.

Orlagk grunted, his face twisting in genuine discomfort. He'd prepared for it, but Gunmar was still a bit bigger than the bulls in his harem.

The younger troll was as fierce in his mounting as he was on the battlefield, and it wasn't long until his rut pushed through to its mark.

Orlagk groaned as the honey-warm prickling began behind his Gronk-nuks. The fit was cramped, but he was keen on the way that Gunmar's rut stroked against his seedsack.

Gunmar growled, pressing his chest to Orlagks. Their stone grated together as the younger bull's hips slapped against his Warlord's thighs.

Orlagk managed to work a hand between them, rubbing his own crotch with blunt fingers. Before long, his fat rut began to slide free of its sheathe and he plucked at the flared head, stroking himself solid.

A cloudy stream of precum began to dribble down his shaft, and the stench of his arousal was all it took to push Gunmar over the edge.

His jaws clenched together on Orlagk's shoulder until the stone cracked, the bob of his hips slowing.

Orlagk waited until he was certain that he could feel Gunmar's spend, then he slipped his knee between the soldier's legs and slammed it upward.

Still dazed from their rutting, the younger bull was caught completely off-guard. His bellow of pain was quickly choked as he toppled to the ground; bent double.

Orlagk shoved himself to his feet and stormed toward the fallen troll.

Gunmar opened his mouth to protest.

Orlagk shut it for him with a heavy kick to the jaw.

"I gave you an order."

His hackles rose as Gunmar tried to stand. If the younger bull had been sober, Orlagk might have thought twice before taking him on.

Instead, he swung his hoof into Gunmar's face.

With a loud crack, Gunmar's pain-tensed form went limp. 

Orlagk summoned Decimaar and straddled his broad back.

He sat down heavily, grabbing one of his forelocks.

"Give me one reason not ta take your skull for a goblet." The Warlord hissed, wrenching Gunmar's head up. He pressed the blade to his chin.

Gunmar coughed, struggling to speak with a broken nose.

"But you--" The younger bull croaked, "I thought---"

"That's your problem. You think too much. Think just because you came out of a Heartstone instead of a whore that you're Morgana's gift to Trollkind. Think you can take whatever you'd like. I should put you to the noose for that, cut you open and let Daylight burn your guts."

"My King, I never---I didn't mean to---"

The younger bull sounded so lost that Orlagk almost felt sorry for him.

But he hadn't earned the title 'Oppressor' for his compassion.

Orlagk dragged Gunmar to his feet and gave him a shove toward the log.

"I should kill ye. But a taste of your own medicine will suit. Get on all fours." He growled, pointing with Decimaar. "Be quick wit' ye."

Gunmar followed his gaze to the log before glancing back at his face.

Orlagk recognized the anxious glint in his eyes. It was always the same with bulls.

He gestured to the log with Decimaar again, and Gunmar stumbled over to it.

It took a few tries with his unsteady hooves, but he managed to climb over the fallen tree.

Orlagk took a moment to admire the sight. Gunmar's slate-colored haunches hung on one side of the log, his rune-sketched tail pressed flat in an attempt to cover himself.

His hooves pawed the ground, digging small ruts in the earth as he tried to keep from slumping forward.

Orlagk grabbed the last few canteens and carried them over to him.

"Lift your tail, Gunmar." he ordered, setting the wineskins down beside the log.

His tail quivered and, if possible, went even flatter.

Orlagk let it go. He knew recognized the act as instinct, rather than defiance.

He stabbed Decimaar into the earth beside Gunmar's face.

"Fair's fair, Lad." Orlagk kept his voice stern, But he was gentle as he slid his fingers between the soldier's legs.

Orlagk began stroking him, pumping his knuckles up and down the sensitive head of Gunmar's rut.

The younger bull whimpered, rocking his heat-drenched hips into Orlagk's fist.

"Lift your tail." Orlagk purred, and this time, Gunmar obeyed.

The Warlord mounted him.

Gunmar was a different shape from the bulls he was used to. But after a bit of prodding, he found what he was looking for.

Orlagk tried to press forward, but his slick cock slid upward instead of in.

"Relax it." Orlagk ordered.

"Orlagk---"

"No one disobeys my orders twice, Gunmar."

"How?"

"What?"

Gunmar shifted, trying to look over his shoulder.

"How do I relax it?"

Orlagk chuckled again.

"Push down like yer' trying to pass a bone turned wrong ways."

Gunmar swallowed nervously.

"But what if I--"

"Ye haven't et in days. You won't. Even if you did, what's that matter to a Troll? Take the cure, lad, and you'll be back on the battlefield tomorrow."

Orlagk felt the soldier beneath him shudder.

Gunmar hung his head, refusing to look back as he pushed against Orlagk.

In spite of his reluctance, his tailhole was soft and ready, and the young bull moved his tail to the side in an instinctive invitation.

The younger soldier yelped as Orlagk breached him. He pressed his face to his forearm, groaning quietly as the warlord gouged him open.

Orlagk's teeth clamped down on the soldier's scruff, rolling his hips as Gunmar's cord-tight muscles popped open around him.

Gunmar was tight and lush, and it was pleasant enough, but Orlagk was unimpressed. He'd expected a rush of heartstone energy, maybe not a boost to his magics, but _something_ more interesting than _whimpers_ from Morgana's chosen one.

Gunmar grunted in discomfort beneath him, grimacing every time the heavy rut slid in and out of his guts.

Orlagk scowled, chewing on disappointment.

The bull wasn't even the best he'd had. Too tight, and noisy besides.

Orlagk bit down harder on his scruff.

If Gunmar had been more welcoming, he might've gone slow with him. As it was, he wanted now was to teach him a lesson and get back to camp.

He jerked his hips, gliding in and out of his soldier's resisting hole. After a more few thrusts, he knew he was ready to seed him.

Orlagk began to press forward.

Gunmar went rigid.

"Ow," The bull tried to pull away from the burning stretch, "Stop---stop! What is that!?"

"You've never seen a caprock?" Orlagk spat out a mouthful of mane, "No matter. You'll learn soon enough."

Gunmar clenched against the intrusion, but there was no where for him to go, he was pinned firmly between the log and the older bull.

"NO!" He shoved against the ground with surprising energy, and Orlagk had to bring his full weight down to keep him in place.

"Stop wriggling!" The Warlord snarled, "I'm going to knot you proper, and then---"

He never got a chance to finish the sentence.

In a sudden burst of strength, Gunmar smashed his fist into Orlagk's temple.

The Warlord let out a curse as he fell back, clutching at his head. Quickly, Orlagk shoved himself to his feet, his rage giving way to disbelief.

Gunmar was on his feet, his stance growing steadier with every breath. He'd slipped the soldier enough Kava root to knock a Nyarlagroth onto its ass, but he seemed to be shaking the drug off.

Gunmar took a step back, snorting as he dropped into a charge position.

But half-way into lowering his horns, he swayed, then toppled onto his side.

His recovery may have been quick, but it wasn't quick enough.

Gunmar shook his horns, glancing up just in time to see Orlagk's hoof rushing toward his face.

"Cheeky whelp." the warlord spat as Gunmar went limp.

Orlagk had just finished emptying the first canteen when Gunmar came to.

The younger bull stirred, muttering something as his eyes cracked open.

He was sluggish, and barely fought against the chains securing his horns to his tail.

Some life came back to him when Orlagk pulled the neck of the wineskin out of his hole.

"You've got gronk-nuks." The warlord said, trading the empty canteen for a full one, "Disobey me again and I'll feed them to you."

"What are you doing?" Gunmar mumbled, testing the chains.

Trying to lower his tail sent a fierce pain through his scalp, but if he attempted to ease the tension on his horns, it lifted his tail, exposing him to more prodding and fingering.

His jaw went slack as Orlagk forced the head of the canteen into his opening, revulsion and disbelief warring in his eyes.

"I'll kill you." Gunmar rasped, "I'll rip out your spine and eat your----"

Orlagk squeezed the canteen, and Gunmar bellowed.

"Two to go, lad."

The younger bull twisted his eyes shut, abdominals clenching against a cramp.

"---Stop."

"That's the trouble with you, Gunmar. No manners, no discipline. Just as was said, Morgana's gift to Trollkind. Should've taught you some humility decades ago."

The third canteen was placed, emptied and tossed away.

"-Stop, _please_. My stomach hurts."

A miserable gurgle came from his midsection. After Orlagk forced the last wineskin into him, Gunmar's struggles became more listless, the sight of the Warlord above him blurring.

A feeble blue light broke through the haze, and Gunmar's vision cleared just long enough to see Decimaar's tip half an inch from his left eye.

"Keep it in, lad." Orlagk said, "You spill a single drop, and I'll cut this eye out."

The chains went slack, and Gunmar was vaguely aware of a fierce ache in his neck and being shoved to his feet.

Once more, Orlagk gestured to the log, but by this point the younger bull didn't walk, so much as he fell toward it.

"You'll die for this." Gunmar winced at how his voice slurred, "I'm Morgana's chosen, I am Gunmar the Black---"

Orlagk siezed one of his forelocks, yanking Gunmar's head back as he forced his rut into the soldier's sloppy hole.

Pain stole the rest of Gunmar's threats, but Orlagk spoke with confidence.

"Never forget, to serve Morgana is to serve me."

The Warlord seized his other lock of hair, pulling his face up as rocked against him.

"I wield the Blade. I am Orlagk the Oppressor."

Orlagk knotted him, and Gunmar chewed his tongue till it bled.

"No one cares who _you_ are."

Orlagk's thrusts slowed, and Gunnmar stared up at the sky as the first pink fingers of dawn began to steal the night.

He could hear his strained belly sloshing, and the sound brought the shame and confusion down on him like a fist.

Gunmar vomited as Orlagk seeded him.

The sun was over the horizon by the time Gunmar came to again. The shadows of the choke-cherry trees offered their protection from daylight.

Gunmar tasted bile and spat, uncertain whether or not he was gratful for the shade.

"Ye have three options, lad." Orlagk had slipped back into his accent. He looked cheerful, almost refreshed as he stretched and greeted the morning. "Ye can run with your tail tucked, knowin' no other tribe'll take ya. Ye can keep defying me, and I'll rewrite your mind and send you to my harem...."

The younger bull shuddered as he felt his gorge rising again. Once more, Gunmar retched, emptying his stomach from both ends.

The smell of his sick mixed with the stench of sour wine, and Gunmar pressed his aching head to the log before trying to rise to his feet.

  
"Or," Orlagk paused, lifting a claw to rub his chin, "You can keep quiet, and live long enough to lead my armies."

Gunmar closed his eyes against a stab of pain, his bowels were raw and sore, and seemed to throb in time with his pulse. It wasn't like any wound he'd ever felt in battle. The pain was deeper, fouler, there was more filth to it than a blade coated in creeper-sun.

The runes in Orlagk's arm glowed as he extended a hand to Gunmar.

The soldier stared at it for a long while, before wordlessly accepting.

"There's a lad." Orlagk grinned, tugging him to his feet, "You know, a troll who can keep quiet has the makings of a general. How's the fever?"

Without thinking, Gunmar touched his temple. The ugly tar-like substance had stopped flowing, and he did feel like some of the fire had left his limbs.

"You survived." Orlagk gave him a sharp pat on the back, "At least till next season."

As the warlord spoke, he once more reached out to brush a lock of Gunmar's mane away from his face.

"My..My King." Gunmar rolled the words across his tongue like an unfamiliar taste, "I Request permission to...polish myself."

Orlagk smirked and tossed him a small pack of supplies.

"Granted. I can see why ya don't want the mares to see ye like this. Next time we give you one, you'll know what to do with her!"

Orlagk's elbow jabbed into Gunmar's ribs, and the younger bull forced a crooked smile.

"Go wash up." Orlagk stated, "And if ye ever feel like practicing your cherry picking, help yourself to one of the impure."

Orlagk swung Decimaar over his shoulder before he marched back toward camp. Gunmar could hear him whistling a cookfire tune.

Gunmar opened the pack, ignoring the whetrocks and a hard lump of polishing wax. Instead, he fished a small carving knife from the sack, and lifted it toward his face.

With a scrape of metal on stone, he cut off his forelocks. 

**Author's Note:**

> Needless to say, Gunmar never drank cimmerian wine again.


End file.
